Category Archives: ROYAL NAVY

3:23 (2016) Pilgrim Sailor

05 Wednesday Oct 2016

Posted by in Gibraltar, Memoirs of Gibraltar, ROYAL NAVY, travel, tripadvisor

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , ,

Chatting to the Gate Guard on the Rooke Site was really nice; he was a man who knew about Naval history in Gibraltar and so he certainly spoke my kind of language. Aside from that though he also cared; he cared about Pilgrim Sailors such as myself who (for reasons best known only to us) made that trip back to Rock years after they had left (in my own case ‘forty years’ after I had left). For a man who must have met dozens of us I found the fact that he appeared to care for each of us individually (and made time for us) very touching. 
*

Just before leaving the gate the guard shook my hand (after he had taken my Selfie) and said “You’ll be going past your old house for a look yes?” pointing across the road at Edinburgh House. For a minute I was speechless; for some strange reason I hadn’t realised I was so close to the married quarters because I’d been so wrapped up in seeing Rooke again it hadn’t even occurred to me. “Oh. Yes my friend” I replied (during a man hug), “Of course”.

*


*

After walking through the archway to the married quarters (the one I had walked through thousands of times before in another life) I found myself standing in the quadrangle courtyard staring straight at our old home, 21 Edinburgh House. What was really nice about it was that all of the buildings were looking well presented, recently painted and very homely. 

*


(2016)

*

(1976. My daughter 40 years previously)

*

A few slight differences abounded (which to me were very much improvements) such as new blue and white sun shades fitted to the balconies and lockable outside doors to the lobbies of each building (presumably for added security for the residents. I also noticed that each of the buildings had been inaugurated with its own individual name (I think after famous Gibraltarian sons and daughters of note?). In the case of my building the name ‘Manuel Olivero House’ had been placed above the outer door.

*


*

As I stood looking up at my old apartment (wondering whether to knock on the door to say hello) a voice said “Hallo there”. In one of the lower apartments an elderly gentleman and his wife were sitting out on their balcony enjoying the shade from the afternoon sun. I immediately replied to the man and after introducing myself to him (and his wife) I spent the next hour having a wonderful conversation with him about all things Gibraltar; including how “Gibraltar will always be British not Spanish and how he loved his apartment”. 

Eventually (and reluctantly) I decided I’d better be moving on with my quest (to find the elusive Morrisons) and said to my new friend that it had been wonderful for me to meet him and a privilege spending time with him. As he shook my hand and bade me farewell he said “You will talk about me in your book no?”. “Oh yes Sir” I smiled.

*

*

Walking back across the quadrangle toward the Main archway to Queensway I spun round for a last look (a bit like Julie Andrews on the hills in the Sound of Music); looking up I noticed a couple more residents waving at me! Slightly flushed I waved back then slipped through the archway. As I looked at the beautiful Rock I wondered where the NAAFI had gone, and the Fleet Pav – I’m sure they were there last time I looked. 

But then it was a while ago since I’d looked through that archway.
*

3:22 (2016) Old sailors never die, they just fade away.

04 Tuesday Oct 2016

Posted by in Gibraltar, Memoirs of Gibraltar, ROYAL NAVY, travel

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, ,

I don’t know how long I’d been wandering around Commonwealth Park (and I didn’t care) but finally, somehow, I managed to (very reluctantly) drag myself out of it. Any other day I could have stayed there till the sun went down but on this occasion I’d been specifically despatched on a mission to find this new Morrisons (I’d heard all about) and to not succeed was unthinkable – even a fate worse than death!

*

(Queensway, I think)

*

When I came out of the park onto the Main Road I wasn’t totally sure where I was because I didn’t recognise the high-rise apartments or the carriageway but eventually I made the decision that I must be on Queensway; I also had a feeling (in my water) that I needed to go right (not left) even though there was a roundabout in the road I didn’t recognise either. It wasn’t long though (maybe about 50 yards) before I knew exactly where I was. 


(The Bus Station which I think used to be the Royal Naval Caravan Site where we lived)

*
After passing what looked like a bus station – which I’m sure used to be the Royal Naval Caravan Site where I used to live (although I wasn’t sure) – I found myself looking across the road straight into the main gate of the Rooke Site, formerly HMS Rooke. 

*


(Rooke Site, formerly HMS Rooke)

*

For a minute I couldn’t move, I couldn’t even breathe, I just stood there gawping at a massive lump of my military history, worse still (or better still) my emotional history (if there is such a thing). As I looked past the Main Gate at the buildings within the complex I swore blind I could even recognise what I thought was my old office, even my old desk, although on reflection that may have been my mind playing delusional tricks on me . At some point (in a lucid moment during my day dream) I realised one of the Gate Guards was looking at me as though I was Gibraltar’s Number One Enemy and so decided I’d better cross the road and explain myself.

*


(Old sailors never die, they just fade away)

*

Face to face with the Gate Guard (the first of many real live Gibraltarians I would meet, speak to and become friends with during my stay) he began a conversation before I could even open my mouth. I must have looked as though I was frightened of being in trouble for spying on the barracks or something and so he said to me “Don’t worry, I know what you want. Many come here all the time to visit the old place. Many old sailors. Today this is Police buildings. Would you like me to take your selfie here?”. 

“Yes Sir, thank you” I replied, “I would like that”.

*

2:60 (1977) Goodbye Gibraltar

27 Saturday Aug 2016

Posted by in Gibraltar, Memoirs of Gibraltar, ROYAL NAVY, travel

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

On 22 November we boarded our plane. After settling the children down I sat looking out of the window at the Rock but I didn’t see it even though it was staring me in the face; all I saw were images. Alameda Gardens, the back streets of the Old Town, Rosia, Montague Pavillion, the Piazza, Catalan Bay……
* 

As the flight stewardess came around checking everyone’s seat belts she stopped at our seats to make a big fuss of the children who were all dressed in their best and looking gorgeous. Briefly my mind came back into the present moment to enjoy seeing my children being admired before slipping back into its abstract world of memories to the sound of the ever increasing noise of the engines revving up ready for take off. 

*

As the plane began to move all my thoughts and words were blanked out and replaced with what felt like a shower of memories coming the other way. Three hours later it was all over. As though it had never happened. 


*

Goodbye Gibraltar.

2:59 (1977) We didn’t say anything because there was nothing left to say

26 Friday Aug 2016

Posted by in Gibraltar, Memoirs of Gibraltar, ROYAL NAVY

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, ,

Giving in the keys to our home at Edinburgh House was hard; all of a sudden it was all real, we were now officially homeless in Gibraltar and technically in transit. The Navy had booked us into a really small back street hotel somewhere up either on Main Street or up a side street near there; I thought it was called the Montague but through the course of writing these memoirs readers have suggested it may have been the Montarik? During my recent visit to the Rock (May 2016) I did search to try and find it but wasn’t very successful; if it was the Montarik that establishment is no longer a hotel and if it was the Montague its vanished beyond trace. Whatever it was it wasn’t a pleasant experience for us but then we weren’t really feeling on top of the world.
(Montarik. Once a hotel? If not where then is Montague Hotel?)

*

There’s something very surreal about being at a ‘party’ that you don’t want to be at – especially if it’s been thrown for you – but by the same token it’s also very touching when a group of people who are really close to you get together to wish you well.


(1977 Fleet Pav ‘do’. Close friend Sandy facing camera with black rimmed glasses)

*

Although I haven’t laboured our social life much during these memoirs we certainly had a good one even though we were very much a family couple; we knew a lot of people and had many a shin-dig around the town calling in at all of Gibraltar’s well known establishments of the day. I’ve talked about the Buccaneer but others included Tivoli, Hole in the Wall and of course the Fleet Pav which is where we had our leaving do just a couple of days before our flight.


(1977 With Carol at our Fleet Pav ‘do’)

*

Having a drink problem it was very rare for me to really let go but as I recall I had something of a skinful at our thrash; so did Carol now I think about it. It was the least we could do given the effort that everyone had gone to and to be fair although it was typically raucous (as every evening out with a group of service personnel off the leash is) it was also a cracking night. Given the strain we were both under it was quite a nice relief to put the worries to one side even if it was for just a few hours. These days I don’t drink alcohol and haven’t done since 1995 but I can still remember the blinding hangover I had from this thrash.

*

As the hangover gradually subsided so too did our spirits as we finally arrived at the point where we could say we were leaving tomorrow. During our last full day on the Rock we (naturally) had a walk up and down Main Street and of course through Alameda Gardens where we spent some time watching the children play in the little playground they had come so used to know and love. As night-time fell, we got the children back to the hotel, bathed and tucked up into bed and then had an early night ourselves. We didn’t do anything because there was nothing we wanted to do; we didn’t say anything because there was nothing left to say.

*

2:53 (1977) From the wilderness to paradise.

20 Saturday Aug 2016

Posted by in Gibraltar, Memoirs of Gibraltar, ROYAL NAVY

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

, , ,

The very first photo I took of our new daughter Benita was with her sisters Tracey and Samantha and their Mum in – (you got it) – Alameda Gardens. Where else? I guess over the years Alameda has become quite a spiritual place for me in that I’ve always found it a comforting place to be whenever I’ve needed to think things through and so to celebrate happy times there seemed to be a natural progression. 
(1977 July. Benita’s first photo with my wife Carol and her sisters Tracey and Samantha. I love this xxxx)

*

As I took this photo – looking at my family through the eye of a camera lens – I felt the luckiest man in the world and that nothing could compare or even come close. Sometimes I could barely believe how much my life had changed in such a relatively short space of time; within just a few years I felt as though I’d stepped out of the dark, frightening and lonely wilderness of childhood and landed literally in paradise. It would always be against that backdrop that I would become fiercely protective of my herd; and as a result I would always see Gibraltar through my eyes as paradise.

*

When I first began writing my memoirs I think I said I wasn’t a particularly skilled writer just someone able to put down a few anecdotes and somehow string them together. As my memoirs have progressed I stand by that but would probably add that in addition to the anecdotes I appear to have a tendency of throwing in my emotions plus plus. When I’ve rationalised that I’ve thought well what is the point of writing memoirs if I didn’t throw my emotions into it? No point.
I say that because there have been times when (almost overcome with powerful feelings while writing about an emotive subject) I’ve manically scribbled massively long paragraphs only to have to go back later and edit them down. The fact many of those feelings have remained so strong after forty years is probably one reason I felt the need to write these tales in the first place although today (as a marginally more mature man) I do now at least edit before I publish. As a younger man I was far less tactful – although no writer I often fired off verbally without properly thinking things through.

*

Just thinking about being less tactful and more firey takes me back to many a meeting I had with my line manager, Petty Officer Brian, who over a period of months tried all ways possible to persuade me to reverse my notice and stay in the Royal Navy. Our meetings were always private between us, pulled no punches and became more frequent (and stroppy) as time began running out. The divide between Naval life and Family life was becoming wider by the day.

*
Brian: “Alan you have your family to consider”.

Me: “That’s exactly why I’m leaving”.

Brian: “Don’t do anything rash. Think of your career”.

Me: “Every time shit hits my family fan the Navy shove my career in my face to stop me sorting it”. 
Brian: “You look tired. Have a few days leave”.

Me: “My mind is made up and that’s the end of it”.

Brian: “Let’s have a couple of pints tonight at the Fleet Pav. My shout”.

Me: “I can’t I’m organising the children’s Christening with Carol”

Brian: “Ok. Well have a nice evening, we’ll chat tomorrow”.

*

As I cruise towards the end of this chapter (and with our time in Gibraltar fast coming to a close) I can still feel the pain of having to choose between the two things in life I’d only ever loved. Of course there was never any contest or competition, my family would always come first in any given scenario, and still does. But that would never take away the personal sense of loss I would carry for the next forty years.

*

2:52 (1977) Will you make her a frock to match her sisters please?

19 Friday Aug 2016

Posted by in Gibraltar, Memoirs of Gibraltar, ROYAL NAVY, travel

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

, , , ,

I don’t know about other people but whenever trauma comes into my life my mind tends to automatically block it out and then go into a practical mode to manage it like some sort of safety mechanism; as a result my memories of Carol being in hospital for six weeks are very sketchy. Having said that perhaps the one thing that does resonate all these years later was how much Carol trusted and liked her consultant Colonel Price; she would often say he listened to all of her concerns and gave her all the time she needed to express them. What is probably more clear to me (hopefully without coming across too selfish) are the things I needed to cope with as a result of being on my own with the children during that time.

*

One thing I definitely felt was that the Navy were only supportive to a point; they wanted me back at work quick smart and as fast as possible. I was allowed a certain amount of leave but was given no choice about having to make arrangements for the children in the best way I could by asking friends and the Naval Wives Club for help and I totally hated that; mainly because I was terrified the children wouldn’t cope very well because so many different people ended up being involved in their care. Also my own history of having been brought up in care didn’t help either.

*

Facing the attitude of “either you make arrangements for your children or we will” left me feeling totally disempowered and beholding to virtual strangers; it was reminiscent of the last time my family needed me (when Sam was seriously ill and almost died but they wouldn’t allow me home). The pattern that was emerging was one I found frightening. Since putting in my 18 month notice to leave the RN I did think that there may be times when I questioned my decision – or even reversed it – but that was becoming increasingly unlikely.

*

I suppose the fact I didn’t go into meltdown could be credited to the Royal Navy (for giving me the skills to manage traumatic situations) although in hindsight I did see it as something of a paradox because to my mind they created the crisis in the first place. 

My days evolved into taking the children ‘somewhere’ for their day, going to work (and worrying about them all day at the same time I worried about Carol all day), collecting the children after work, taking them to see their Mum – or arranging a baby-sitter at times I went on my own – and finally getting home for bedtime routines with the children before flaking out myself.

*

This attitude of the Navy’s regarding compassionate situations wasn’t anything new to me; a situation from my distant past was also informing my responses. Before I ever met Carol I was abroad when the Navy flew me home from Mombasa because my foster dad Billy had had three strokes and been taken into Mansfield hospital. However when I got back to UK my foster Mam Katie had been taken into Nottingham hospital for an operation. Whilst in UK I found myself travelling from home to two separate hospitals twice a day which was exhausting physically and emotionally; the situation became worse because my Mam died and I wasn’t allowed to tell my dad in case he had another stroke. 

*

When I didn’t return to my ship on the expected date the heavies were sent around to my house. Eventually I was given an extra two weeks leave and ordered to return to my ship which by then was in Singapore. Inside those two weeks I buried my Mam, sold everything my parents had owned, banked the money for dad and gave up the lease on their rented house. After arriving in Singapore I was punished for being late; it wasn’t long after that I began hitting the bottle. Although this tale is from one of my other memoirs (Memoirs of a Sailor – which I’ve currently placed on pause to write this one) I’ve included it because I’ve felt it is relevant.


(My beautiful family. Carol with the children in their pink and white frocks before their sister arrived)

*

Throughout the duration of Carol’s pregnancy I had decided (almost decreed) we would be having another daughter and so while she was in hospital I tripped off down Irish Town where I knew a lady who made children’s clothes kept her little shop. I explained to the lady that our new daughter would be arriving soon and asked her if she would make her frock in pink and white with embroidery on to match frocks that her sisters had. Duly the lovely lady made the frock which was beautiful and for which she charged me a very reasonable £4. When I told Carol she said ‘Why do you keep thinking its a girl, what if it isn’t?’. I don’t know how I knew. But I knew.

*

After six weeks in hospital Carol eventually came home and between then and when the baby arrived there were a couple of false alarms which naturally sent me into panic mode. Then on the one day I decided to think ‘yeah, yeah’ and turn over to go back to sleep it turned out to be the real thing!!! When it finally got through my thick head that ‘this was it’ I sorted the transport and we just got to RNH in time; Carol was rocking so much in labour that she almost gave birth in the lift. Literally as we got into the delivery suite our daughter Benita arrived. Our family was complete 🙂 

*

2:50 (1977) It’s those little memories that knit a story together

15 Monday Aug 2016

Posted by in Gibraltar, Memoirs of Gibraltar, ROYAL NAVY

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

, ,

I’ve always felt that it’s the little anecdotes knitted together that really give the best overview of a story and tell it well; big events are easy to remember, sort of in your face and difficult to miss out but the little ones (to me) are priceless. For me they are a bit like finding out something you could never have imagined and yet very endearing about someone very famous; I follow a Buddhist path in life and when The Dalai Lama said one of his biggest regrets in life was not being able to have a girlfriend I was blown away.
*

Throughout my memoirs I’ve tried to include as many of the major events that I can remember (and there are still more to come); but I’ve also tried to include the smaller day-to-day ones as they’ve sprung to mind because all these things go into the mix which make up my memories of living in Gibraltar. 


(USS Nimitz off Gibraltar)

*

One of the smaller day-to-day things that had everyone talking was the arrival of a humongous aircraft carrier from the United States, the USS Nimitz, which it appears was so big that it couldn’t berth alongside and had to anchor off. With a crew of 6000 personnel it certainly put any British warship in the shade and if rumours were to be believed they had race wars and gang warfare onboard. As ‘locals’ there was an element of fascination about having such an impressive visitor to the Rock although the downside was that we avoided going out to eat or shop on the Main Street because we found Americans to be overly loud and too familiar (we didn’t really want to be #bff with people we didn’t know). Another downside was (with no disrespect to traders who wanted to make hay while the sun shone) prices for anything and everything virtually doubled.

*

On the upside whenever ships like Nimitz left the Rock there always seemed to be a bargain to be had in many of the eateries – for example a free bottle of wine with dinner. One of our regular troughs was the Lotus House Chinese which even got into the habit of contacting us with their current offers particularly when bookings were down. Although it would never be my intention to circulate spurious rumours about any restaurant there was an occasion when the Lotus House was closed down the day after we had eaten there; sailors being sailors suggested something unpleasant had been found in the fridge but in fairness it wasn’t long before it reopened and it didn’t stop us eating there.


(Royal Naval Hospital Gibraltar)

*

Perhaps one last little memory I’d like to include in this post would be to give a mention to the Moroccan painters who periodically would come around Edinburgh House and give all of the flats a fresh lick of paint. The painters who came were really super fast and could paint an entire flat in no time; I can still smell how fabulously fresh the place smelled every time they finished. With a new child on the way it was lovely to have the painters in just beforehand and it certainly wouldn’t be long before Carol had a date at RNH Gibraltar.

*

2:48 (1977) HM Queen Elizabeth’s Jubilee Year in Gibraltar

13 Saturday Aug 2016

Posted by in Gibraltar, Memoirs of Gibraltar, ROYAL NAVY, travel, tripadvisor

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

, , ,

1977 was HM Queen Elizabeth’s Jubilee Year and naturally there was a lot going on in Gibraltar. Come to that there is always a lot going on in Gibraltar which makes it such a great place to visit; a basic search on Google would almost certainly flag up the Mediterranean Steps Challenge, the Chess Tournament, the Darts Tournament, Classic Car Rally’s and much more. 
*

Back in 1977 one of the events that attracted me was the Art Competition which I did contribute to but didn’t particularly shine at; I still have the artwork I entered and when I viewed it recently I made the decision that it was so dreadful I’m surprised they accepted it all which is why I haven’t published it on this post – and probably won’t post anywhere else anytime soon.

However what was important to me (at that time) wasn’t so much winning a prize but taking part with everyone else and feeling part of it all; learning from the experience was also a massive advantage because the following year I entered a National Art Competition in UK and won it. 


(2016 Gibraltar Art Gallery)

*

Thinking back though what I loved about the Gibraltar exhibition was how local people painted and drew their interpretations of the Rock and their beautiful environment with such feeling – something they still do today judging from what I saw when I visited Gibraltar Art Gallery during May 2016. 


(2016 Cable car approaching pylon on a non windy day)

*

Carol was born on the Queens birthday (21 April) and as a tribute was given the middle name of Elizabeth by her parents. As I was born 13 days after her (May the Fourth be with you) I often referred to myself as her toy boy – particularly just after her birthday when she was technically a year older than me. That period of time between our two birthdays became known as my Toy Boy Fortnight during which I certainly ‘took the rise’ (tongue in cheek) out of Carol although she did always have the girls coming out in support of her and so I was always outnumbered 🙂


(1977 Carol in St.Michaels Cave)

*

It was during my ‘Toy Boy fortnight of 1977’ that we decided to celebrate our joint birthdays with a trip up the Rock to see the apes and visit St.Michaels Cave. Carol was 22 and I was 21 but since she was six months pregnant I was very much in an ‘I will look after you and protect you’ mode although that absolutely didn’t bode well with the independent strong young woman she was who seemed to be on constant playback – “Don’t fuss, I can manage by myself”.


(1977 Carol descending King Charles V Steps)

*

So although it was quite a windy day we took the cable car up to the top of the Rock but as we travelled further and further up the wind became worse and worse. By the time we approached one of the pylons our cable car was swinging (almost at right angles) from left to right and it was clear the car was going to hit the pylon. At that the cable car attendant opened the door and used a pole to push the car away from the pylon as we went past it and as he did that Carol found herself literally looking through the open door straight down in terror at Alameda Gardens. When we finally got to the Apes Den and got off the cable car Carol (ashen faced) said that there was no way she was getting back on it.

(1960 King Charles V Steps)

*

It took me some time to reassure Carol that we could go back down to the town via King Charles V Steps and that we didn’t need to get back into the cable car; the fright had been such that I have no idea how she didn’t give birth on the spot. Eventually though she did calm down enough to enjoy the visit and also enjoyed the trek back down the Rock via the steps with those breath taking views. But it would be a long time before she got back into the cable car.

*

2:46 (1977) Yogi Bear (GIBAIR) to Fez

06 Saturday Aug 2016

Posted by in Gibraltar, Memoirs of Gibraltar, ROYAL NAVY, travel, tripadvisor

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, , , ,

Like most people I’ve always known that if I fell off my bike I’d need to get back on it and the quicker the better; that whole concept is a sort of unspoken rule in life for not accepting failure or that something has beaten you. Getting back on a bike is one thing but getting back into an aircraft for a third flight after two dodgy ones in a row is something else – especially if you are the superstitious type. Clearly Carol wasn’t because even after her recent experiences she was not about to pass up the chance of a Naval Wives Trip to Fez, Morocco and was one of the first to put her name (and mine) down.


(1977 Carol in blue and white top smiling boarding Yogi Bear)

*

When the big day came there was about twenty of us waiting at the airport looking over at what was affectionately known (to Naval personnel and their families) as ‘Yogi Bear’. Whether it was true or not I’m unsure but back in 1977 it was said that Gibraltar Airline consisted of just one plane emblazoned ‘GIBAIR’ which is why it was given that (typically Naval) nickname ‘Yogi Bear’. As we all stood admiring our plane – and tried to guess its (considerable) age – our Captain suddenly came into view wobbling and tripping his way across the tarmac as though he’d had one too many. No, I’m sure he hadn’t…he just looked like he had…didn’t he?


(1977 Fez from the air)

*

I can’t admit to Morocco being my favourite destination because as mentioned earlier (in these memoirs) I’ve had far too many negative experiences on the African continent; but Carol didn’t have my history, she loved the place, needed a real pick me up and so a trip to Fez was exactly ‘what the doctor ordered’. Even though I wasn’t especially looking forward to the trip I was very relieved when (after rattling its way down the runway) our eccentric looking Captain managed to lift the plane off the ground into the air. 


(1977 Snake charmers in Fez)

*

Landing in Fez was one of those memories that has seared itself into my psyche and not something I’ll ever forget in a long time. The runway resembled nothing short of a ploughed field which is exactly what it felt like landing in; as we hit the ground and then continued on for a further couple of hundred yards it was though we were all being given a smacked backside before being allowed off. When we finally did get off we had to walk through a couple of hundred yards of donkey muck to get to the entrance of what later transpired to be the Medina (walled city). I wouldn’t have minded the donkey muck so much if I had been wearing wellington boots but I was wearing my ‘million-milers’ (moccasins) which sadly had to hit the dustbin at the end of the day.


(1977 Tanned leather drying in the sun. Fez tannery)

*

Spending the day in the Medina was a magical experience in many ways, the snake charmers, the tiny passages and ancient buildings coupled with the smells, sounds, and market trading of exotic spices and goods transported me back centuries into the past; it was almost as though time had stood still.


(1977 Transported centuries back into the past as though time had stood still)

*

Fez is famous for its leather tanneries and so naturally we visited those to see the processes; Fez is also known for its hand woven rugs and carpets although what I found quite disturbing was that very small children were employed in making them. We were shown the children’s sleeping quarters and told they were well looked after and given several hours of education a day too but as a parent that didn’t ease my concerns. I’ve never felt it was my place to judge the culture or traditions of others and I’ve come across very young child workers before in the Far East but having said that I am absolutely against it and don’t buy any goods made by them. Although my own childhood was far from rosy seeing children in situations like that actually made me reassess my lot. 


(1977 Me outside the Royal Palace, Fez, Morocco)


(1977 Carol in the Medina, Fez, Morocco)

*

On a high note one of the high lights of my day was having my photo taken outside the Royal Palace; to me that was really cool. But the best thing was really that Carol had once again had a fabulous experience in Morocco that she still cherishes to this day and it came at a time she really needed that lift.

*

2:45 (1977) Family-time, Me-time, You-time, Us-time. It’s how we roll.

05 Friday Aug 2016

Posted by in Gibraltar, Memoirs of Gibraltar, ROYAL NAVY, travel

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Carol’s week away to see her Dad had been neither easy nor pleasant; he did listen to her (at times) and comply to a certain degree but (since he was very much alcohol dependent) monitoring him had been constant and exhausting; by the time Carol arrived home she looked totally drained. The fact she knew he would revert as soon as she was out of sight was to be an ongoing concern for Carol and (as a pregnant mum of two) additional stress was something I would rather she didn’t have to cope with. I decided I needed to think of ways to ease some of Carol’s stress perhaps by making sure she had some ‘me-time’ to herself and we had some ‘us-time’; a day trip might be nice? Morocco? She loved Morocco. Mmm.
*

As a family we were all thrilled to be back together and celebrated by focusing on some quality family time with trips to the beach, Alameda Gardens, the Monkey den and some of our other favourite haunts. We also just spent time together at home which was lovely; I was never someone who would ever be comfortable at being separated from my family.


(Royal Naval Hospital, Gibraltar)

*

By now Carol was four months pregnant and under (consultant) Colonel Price at The Royal Naval Hospital who she trusted, respected and liked very much. She felt he listened to her and understood her concerns better than any other doctor she had ever had. Quite soon she would need to have check ups as she had never had easy pregnancies; I suppose we both had a few concerns although at this point in time chose not to discuss them. One practical worry I had was that we lived on one side of the Rock and the hospital was on the other but I guess I still had five months to get my head around that. 

*

It was almost as though by fate that the Naval Wives Club announced they were arranging a trip to Fez, Morocco. Even I couldn’t have made that up 🙂 

*